


your good side so worth knowing

by liketheroad



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The obligatory marxist telepathic hooker AU.</p><p><b>warnings:</b> dub-con, mind-control, violence, non-graphic references to/descriptions of torture and the Holocaust.  Also underage! I guess. Charles is 15, but still manages to bring ‘paternalistic, manipulative asshole’ to a whole new level.  Watch out for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this characterization of Charles largely on [this](http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq228/somemornings/tumblr_lntu3gXqtx1qd5gcho1_500.gif) gif. Do with that what you will.

_Charles_

Until Raven, he was alone.

He had his books, and other minds, to read whenever he liked, and for years, that was enough. It was all he knew, and from what he’d gathered from his assorted reading, people were highly adaptable. You could get used to just about anything, really.

But after Raven, what Charles got used to was having a friend, a companion, and he wasn’t about to go back to being alone, not for anything.

Not even when their mother - his mother - caught Raven out of her human form, caught her blue-handed, as it were. Not even when the screaming started.

Charles tried to calm her, to reason with her, but she was shouting, calling Raven a beast, a devil, and then she was charging at Raven with a knife in her hand. Charging at both of them, really, for Charles was standing in front of his sister protectively, attempting to shield her with his hands and his mind. All it did was make her scream at him, too.

He didn’t think of changing his mother’s memories, of making her forget she’d ever seen the blue skin that made her turn a knife on his sister, he only thought of running, Raven’s hand clasped tightly in his, as far as they could go.

 

 _Erik_

Escaping Schmidt would have been a miracle, if Erik believed in those.

As it was, when Erik saw his chance, he took it, knowing he couldn’t trust anyone to save him but himself.


	2. If you lose your way you just follow mine

“It was always half-invented,  
but the other half was good.”  
littlething, Jimmy Eat World

“Oi, you in the turtleneck!”

He’s only been in America for three days, clinging to the shadows of back alleys and side streets, stealing whatever food and water his abilities could distract shopkeepers long enough to procure, sleeping first under a bridge and then in a metal dumpster the second and third night, comforted by the way the metal curved protectively around him, secure in the knowledge that no one would be able to open the heavy metal lid unless Erik wanted them to.

After these days of solitude, after the years of imprisonment and months spent alone on a metal slab, with no one but the Doktor looming over him for company, Erik’s startled to be addressed at all, particularly in this cheerful, cheeky manner.

Still, he turns to look, and sees a slip of a boy waving at him from the nearby street corner, his hips cocked out suggestively, a dangerously pretty smile on his too-red lips.

There’s something about that smile, inviting but more than that, irritatingly all-knowing, that draws Erik in, makes him walk, against all better judgment, towards the boy instead of away from him, as fast as he can get.

Once they’re no more than a foot apart, Erik straightens his shoulders, trying to look as aloof and imposing as possible, and the boy bursts into a fit of giggles that Erik finds alarming, frankly. He takes a step backwards, appalled at himself for finding this tiny, insignificant child intimidating, and all the more irked when this only makes him laugh harder.

“Oh my dear fellow,” he says, still wheezing a little, rubbing ineffectually at his eyes. “Do try and look a little less disappointed, I promise to find you suitably frightening at a later date, alright? For now I need you to come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Erik snaps, taking another step back and glaring with as much heat as he can muster. It’s quite a lot, too, but even this doesn’t quell his strange interlocutor.

“You really are, whether you like it or not. I’d much prefer if you like it, though, if it’s all the same to you. I’m feeling a bit thin today, can’t promise I won’t give you more of a push than necessary, and then the next thing we know you’ll be following me everywhere, doing my bidding at all times. Not that the idea doesn’t appeal, love, but for now I’d very much like it if you’d just come along quietly.”

There’s something chillingly sincere about the threat, a promise Erik finds himself believing may actually be delivered, and he freezes for a minute, planning to run, but before he can, the boy’s hand closes around Erik’s wrist, holding him effortlessly in place.

“Please, Erik, I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to force you. I want to _help_ you. It’s not safe for people like you, not out here.”

“The war is over,” Erik says heatedly, stung. It’s been some time since anyone has looked at him and simply _known_ what he was. There isn’t even a star on his jacket, anymore.

But the boy is shaking his head, something grim and infinitely sad in his look. “I’m sorry, my friend, but I’m afraid it hasn’t even begun.”

\---

He’s taken to a salon parlour, or rather, he’s taken _through_ a salon parlour and then up a set of stairs, and another, all the way up to a loft that is blindingly white, every surface gleaming, sterile.

There’s no metal in the room - not that he can sense - and Erik starts to panic, more than ever before, feeling as if the walls are closing in around him the second Charles - he’s said his name is Charles - shuts the door behind them.

“It’s alright, Erik,” Charles soothes, putting another unsolicited hand on Erik, fingers closing around his shoulder, this time, to clap him reassuringly, lingering to run his palm down Erik’s back before finally withdrawing.

It’s the first time in years Erik can remember finding the touch of another person anything but repulsive, a prelude to yet another invasion, another hurt.

Erik stares at Charles, wondering why some part of him continues to stubbornly _believe_ everything Charles is saying to him, and he blurts, “How do you know my name?”

Charles smiles, wicked and more than a little proud, and says, “I know a lot more than that, my friend.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Which? Erik? Or my friend? You’re both.”

“I’m not.”

Another smile, kinder this time, but no less sure. “Perhaps not. But you will be.”

\---

They go into another room, a small office at the back corner of the loft, and sitting behind a desk made entirely of glass is someone so thoroughly _blond_ that Erik for a moment has a flash of Schmidt again, all the tests the Nazis had him running, seeking that perfect Aryan combination, bright blue eyes and golden blond hair.

The woman just smiles, however, a smile like Charles’ - far too serene and full of knowledge - and she gets up from her desk to come shake his hand.

Warily, he takes the hand that’s offered, squeezing a littler harder than necessary before letting go.

The only indication he gets that this show of strength is even noticed, however, is the amused sparkle in her eyes before she says, “Hello, Erik. I’m Emma Frost. I have a proposition for you.”

\---

An hour after listening to Frost’s ‘proposition,’ Erik's mind is still reeling.

 _Mutants_ , Charles calls them. Calls Erik, calls himself.

 _Posthumans_ , says Frost.

The only points at which this conversation makes any sense at all to Erik are when Charles and Frost glare at each other over terminology and again, at the end, when Charles takes Erik’s hand to squeeze it significantly and say, “So you see, Erik, you’ve been wrong, all this time. You are not alone. And you never have to feel that way again.”

In that moment, Erik wants nothing more than to believe Charles is telling the truth. About all of it.

\---

After their conversation, Frost instructs (orders) Charles to show Erik to his room. The _guest quarters_ , she corrects herself, with an indulgent smile in Erik’s direction.

“Does she always do that?” he mutters grouchily to Charles, as they walk in step towards the aforementioned ‘guest quarters.’

“Read your mind and then respond to what you’re thinking? Sure,” Charles says, sounding bored, not even bothering to look at Erik.

He glowers, and focuses on thinking unflattering things about Charles as loudly as he can.

Charles just throws his head back and laughs, however, otherwise ignoring Erik’s mental assault.

Bloody telepaths.

\---

Once he has Erik ensconced in the guest room, Charles lingers expectantly, although Erik is at a loss as to why.

According to Charles, he’s already read Erik’s mind thoroughly, and Erik patently refuses to ask personal questions of his abductor ( _host,_ Erik, please), so he’s not sure what else they have to talk about.

The answer to his question comes in the form of a strikingly _blue_ girl who suddenly appears in the room, a gleeful look in her eye as she takes Erik in.

It’s the look, not her colour - which Erik’s mind is already characterizing as beautiful, fascinating - that disconcerts him. Erik finds himself taking an unconscious step closer to Charles as she approaches.

It’s a move that’s not lost on Charles or the blue girl, and she claps her hands together and actually _cackles_ for a few very alarming seconds.

“Raven, contain yourself,” Charles commands shortly, effective only insofar as turning the cackle into a smug grin. Small improvement, but better than nothing.

“Protective already?” she taunts, the smirk heavy in her voice.

It makes Erik’s skin prickle, although he’s not entirely sure why.

“Not this one, Raven,” is all Charles will say, but it shuts her up better than anything else so far, so Erik will take what he can get and be grateful for it.

It’s a bit more than he bargained for, however, when Raven proceeds to launch herself at him after another moment’s contemplation, wrapping Erik up in the first hug he’s received since his mother died. He goes rigid and furious in her embrace, but she holds on tight, whispering, “Welcome to the family,” and not letting go until Charles finally snaps, “That’s enough, Raven.”

Once she releases him, Erik takes another step towards Charles, who smiles encouragingly, and Erik tries to ignore the mocking glint in Raven’s eye when she regards both of them, hands on her hips.

“Where do you come from, Erik?” she asks politely, after receiving another warning glare from Charles, obviously trying to behave.

He glances curiously at Charles, who nods, waving his hands expansively.

“I could fill her in, using my abilities - I can transmit thoughts as well as read them, you see - but I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to remain a mystery, at least to some of us.” Charles says this with an air of great generosity, as though he has done Erik a fine favor.

“You couldn’t have considered the value of such privacy before _you_ invaded my head?” Erik laments, not feeling nearly as upset as the situation clearly warrants.

“Sorry,” Charles says, not sounding sorry at all. “Can’t help myself, sometimes. And with a mind like yours, well, who could resist?”

“What’s so special about my mind?”

Charles looks at him sharply for a moment before getting a gazed, blissed-out expression on his face, and then Erik feels an odd, tingling sensation at the base of his skull.

 _Fascinating, complex, driven, passionate, oh and the pain, so rich, so deep, but not even that can overshadow you, how **remarkable** you are, how powerful, oh **Erik** you are extraordinary, I want--_

“Charles!” Raven shouts, snapping them both out of it.

At the sound of her voice, they leap apart, and Erik is flushed, heart racing, feeling distinctly as though he’s just had a bucket of cold water dumped on his head.

“I’m sorry, Erik,” Charles says again, sounding sincere this time. “But as you see, I find you... somewhat overpoweringly desirable.”

“My mind,” Erik clarifies, still feeling a shocked - but oddly not shameful - blush flaring his cheekbones.

“That too,” Charles responds, recovering some of what Erik is now taking to be his characteristic sauciness.

Again, as with everything about Charles, it bothers Erik far less than he’d like. Or should think to like, if he had any sense at all, any sense of self-preservation, at the very least.

Something - everything - about Charles makes Erik sure he’s going to get eaten alive, and worse, that he’ll enjoy it.

“I have to go to work,” Raven says, interrupting another dizzying moment of silent communication between himself and Charles. “Can you be trusted alone with him?” the question is playful, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes that startles Erik.

“Yes, thank you, Raven,” Charles replies, sounding as serious as she looks.

Erik watches her go and has to contain a gasp when, just before she turns around a corner and out of sight, Raven’s skin ripples and transforms, pale skin and long flowing blonde hair replacing her blue form and slicked-back red hair.

“My god,” he murmurs, still staring, even after she’s gone from sight.

“Impressive, isn’t?” Charles remarks with a nod. “Very useful talent, as I’m sure you can imagine. Particularly in our line of work.”

“And what line is that? Aside from kidnapping fellow mutants from random street corners, of course.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees, sounding unconcerned enough that Erik is sure Charles must be poking around in his head again, sensing Erik’s rapidly lessening distrust, his inability to hold onto any suspicion when it comes to Charles.

He raises his eyebrow to let Charles know he still wants a proper answer, and Charles sighs, oddly reluctant, suddenly, going to sit down on the bed and patting the space beside him.

Erik goes to him without thinking about it.

“Mostly, we’re in the business of blending in. There aren’t a lot of people out there who know about us, about what mutants like you and I can do, but it’s enough, and their uses for us are far less enjoyable than the alternative, I assure you. Although, I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve seen more than your fair share of that end of the stick already.”

“What’s the other end?” Erik presses, ignoring the flare of grief-shame-outrage at the reference to his past, anger burning hot over the casual way Charles mentioned it.

Charles shrugs. “As with most things, most tools, with our abilities, it’s all in how you use them. For good or bad, for pain, or for pleasure. Now, you’ve already had your crack at pain, weaponizing your ability as mine so easily can be. We have great destructive power within us, Erik.”

“I know.”

“All too well, I’m afraid,” Charles says, looking nothing close to casual, now. “I had my time of it, too. The first few months, out on the streets alone with myself and Raven to look after, I hurt a lot of people. Stole from them, from their pockets, from their minds. I even killed, before my power was adequately under control.” He says all this matter-of-factly, almost entirely devoid of guilt. “It was enough to survive, to get by, but we were always running, always hiding. And then we met Emma, and everything changed. She taught us to use our abilities to bring pleasure, to control that way instead of with brute force. It’s far cleaner, safer, for us, anyway. And just like before, the people we affect never even realize what’s happening to them. But they’re happy about it, instead of angry, and that’s usually enough to ensure that they won’t go poking around, asking inconvenient questions.”

Erik absorbs all this silently, gratified that Charles isn’t looking at him warily, that he sees no fear of judgment or reprisal lurking in Charles’ face as he watches Erik.

Finally, ignoring his self-directed promises to the contrary, Erik pushes for what really matters to him. Not what Charles does, but why. “What are you doing here in the first place? How did you come to live like... this?”

Charles shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Runaways, both of us, Raven and I.”

“Why?”

Another shrug, more serious, this time. “My mother tried to kill us, kill Raven, when she saw what Raven was. What I am.”

Erik blinks, and finds himself offering up a secret of his own, feeling oddly compelled to even the scales between them. “My mother died. Because I wasn’t strong enough to save her.”

Charles smiles at him, a look in his eyes something like trust, something like respect, and he says, “You’re strong enough now.”

\---

Sometime later, feeling deeply exhausted, Erik lies down almost without realizing it, ending up with his head in Charles’ lap, his fingers carding gently through Erik’s hair.

“Why aren’t I afraid of you?” he asks, feeling the same distant, muffled concern at his overpowering _lack_ of concern, that has been plaguing him since Charles brought him here.

Fear, anger, rage, all the emotions he’s come to define himself by, in fact, are absent from the surface of his mind, a hazy memory or echo, nothing more.

“Hmm? Oh, because I’ve made you not be,” Charles replies, still running his fingers absently through Erik’s hair, massaging his scalp as he goes. It feels terrifyingly good, but even then, Erik can only remind himself that he _should_ find it terrifying, instead of simply, deliciously, pleasurable.

Still, he tries to right himself, struggling to access the shock and outrage that he knows is there, but feels separated from, as if the emotions are locked safely behind a thick layer of glass inside his mind.

“What are you doing to me?” he demands, forcing more anger into the words than he actually feels.

Charles smiles benignly, waving him back closer, and, despite himself, Erik goes, unable to stop a soft sigh of satisfaction when Charles’ fingers find their way back into his hair.

“I had to, Erik, I really am sorry. But you weren’t going to come with me unless I did _something_ about that chip on your shoulder, that armor of suspicion and rage you carry with you everywhere. I’m not changing anything else, I promise, just lowering your inhibitions a might, calming you. You have nothing to fear, not from me, and soon enough you’ll know that without my telling you, and then I’ll be able to stop.”

“How am I supposed to trust anything you say when you’ve just told me you’re controlling my mind?”

“Influencing, Erik, if you please, not controlling. Not all of it, anyway. As I said, you’re still free to think and say whatever else you like about me, but you’ve no reason to be afraid, and I can’t waste energy convincing you of that until I can at least trust you’re not going to run the first chance you get.”

“You’re hardly playing fair,” is all Erik can think to say, injecting as much reproach into his tone as he’s able.

Above him, he senses Charles’ smile, and when he looks up, there it is, wry but unapologetic.

“I never do.”

\---

They spend the day in bed, talking idly, sleeping off and on.

They’ve slipped into something of a deeper sleep by late evening, interrupted finally by the slam of a door announcing Raven’s return.

She’s still changed, blonde and stunning, albeit in a rather blank, shallow way that Erik doesn’t like. It almost makes his stomach turn, in fact, the longer he looks at her, and the feeling isn’t helped by the bleak, miserable look on her face.

He’s only known her for a few hours, only spoken to her for a few minutes, but already Erik can’t imagine Raven ever looking that unhappy in her true form.

Wordlessly, Charles extracts himself from Erik and gets up off the bed to pad over to her, taking her face in his hands and drawing her close, kissing each of her cheeks, and then her forehead. By the time he’s done, she’s blue again.

Focused singularly on Raven for the moment, Charles is distracted enough to break whatever mental hold he has on Erik, and he feels panic and fury flood back into every corner of his mind.

He races to the doorway, bent on escape, only to stop in his tracks, watching immobile as Charles leads Raven over to the small couch at the edge of the room, arranging them both comfortably and then looking at her expectantly.

“It was fine until the last one,” she says to him, her tone private, but more than loud enough for Erik to hear. “He kept _looking_ at me, wouldn’t close his eyes the whole time. Kept saying how _beautiful_ I was, over and over.”

“You could never be more beautiful than you are right now,” Charles promises her, tugging Raven gently closer and tucking her under his arm, her chin resting on his shoulder, the image completed when Charles places a kiss on the top of her red hair.

Erik hovers in the doorway, watching them, trying to remind himself of all the reasons he has to leave, but he can’t, not watching them like this, not after finding the only two people in the world he believes could share such simple tenderness and actually _mean_ it. Not when Charles, someone he’s terrifyingly inclined to trust, despite everything, has implicitly promised that there could be room for him, too, within such tenderness.

It’s not something he ever thought to let himself want again, never mind something he thought he’d ever actually be _offered_ , but when Charles sees him take a hesitant step back into the room, his smile is so blinding Erik can’t help but smile back, shutting the door firmly behind him.

\----

“I don’t think my abilities will be much use bringing... pleasure,” Erik says to Charles later, once he’s put Raven to bed with a promise to keep her dreams safe as she sleeps.

Charles snorts, and says, “Then you lack imagination, which, I have to say, doesn’t strike me as the case, from what I know of you.”

“And you’re sure that’s everything,”

Charles smiles. “Just about. Exact details, names, locations, those sorts of things do tend to blur, of course. And what you can’t remember, I likely can’t uncover, although the brain is a particularly brilliant organ, it remembers more than we can, stores things we don’t always know how to access. I’m good at helping with that.”

“Still, I don’t think--”

“It’s alright, Erik. We don’t want you for that, it’s not something everyone around here does. Mutants like me, like Raven, we’re practically made for it, but there are others with abilities far less, conducive, shall we say, to this particular profession. But just as there are other abilities, there are other jobs that need doing. We get up to a fair bit of crime, still, if that interests you, mostly high-end jewel thefts and the like. It’s all very glamourous, a lot of running around in black and using code-names. You’re already dressed the part, and I imagine you’d be quite useful with locks and things.”

“But?”

Charles grins appreciatively, pleased that Erik picked up on the silent provison at the end of his words.

“But, if you’re interested, there’s another job I think you might be perfect for.”

“What’s that?”

“Protection,” Charles says simply, inclining his head towards Erik. They’re in a different part of the building, now, in Charles’ room, in fact, which is lined wall to wall with bookshelves, except for a small corner reserved for a desk covered in beakers and test tubes.

“Protection of whom?”

Charles shrugs. “All of us, really, but me, specifically.”

“You?”

“Why not? I take a lot of,” he smiles like they’re sharing a joke, “tricks, you see, and they aren’t always pleasant. I can use my abilities to fight them off, if I have to, but it’s not always the quickest or most convenient way to get the job done, and anyway, most of my concentration is taken up maintaining the illusion, during these... sessions. By the time they’re through and ready to decide not to pay or that they feel like roughing me up, I’m usually pretty spent.”

“The illusion?”

“Oh, right, of course, I haven’t told you that bit. That’s the way it works around here, Erik. From each according to his abilities, to each according his needs. We don’t turn tricks unless we have ways to make it, well, more bearable, somehow. For telepaths like Emma and myself, it’s the easiest. We can literally project an image of ourselves, or however the john would like us to be, into their head, making them think we’re doing all sorts of unspeakable things to them, all the while we’re sitting safely on the other side of the room. With someone like Raven, she can distance herself from it other ways, changing her form, dulling all her senses while she does so, so for her it feels very much like she’s watching from outside herself, just as it is for me or Emma. There are others, too, who have their own ways of coping.”

“Why even bother with the pretense, why do it at all?”

Charles shrugs. “We need the money, for one thing. The thefts draw far more attention, and they take so much time and planning, it’s not always worth it. And, well, for some of us, it’s become necessary in other ways too.”

Erik frowns, leaning closer instinctively, not liking the tone in Charles’ voice at all. Feeling absurdly compelled to try and make it better, whatever it is.

“Why would you _need_ it?”

Charles runs a hand through his own hair, looking guilty, for a minute, before pushing that emotion away, his face clear, resolved. “I need the contact, the way minds open up to me in that state of bliss, of vulnerability. I can feed off of it, almost, taking in their happiest memories, their wildest hopes and best dreams. It fills me up, sometimes it feels like it’s the _only_ thing that does. You see, Erik, I meant what I said when I told you I can’t always help myself, not when presented with a particularly... intriguing mind. I’m addicted to it, I’m driven by it. But I can’t take that much from my fellow mutants, not without weakening some, and upsetting most. So I find my fix other ways.”

Stunned, Erik can’t decide if he wants to curl away from Charles, covering his head protectively, or offer his mind up to Charles for him to feast on.

“So you want me in the room to, what, make sure no one realizes what you’re doing to them and attacks you?”

“Essentially yes,” Charles says approvingly, with the air of someone who has just mentally given him top marks for his deductive skills.

Erik sits up, edging away from Charles slightly, trying to gather his bearings a little, to sort out what might be real from what might be the lingering effect of Charles’ compulsions.

“I have - I can’t stay here. I have things to do.”

“Schmidt, you mean?” Whether he’s using his abilities on Erik or not, it doesn’t stop Erik from wanting to _hit_ Charles, and hard, for the dismissive way he says this.

“He killed my mother. If you know as much about me as you say, then you’ll know that that’s more than enough for him to deserve to die.”

“Never mind everything else he did to you.”

“That too,” Erik snaps, almost enjoying the familiar tang of rage on his tongue.

Charles sighs, and raises his hands, fingers splayed wide in surrender.

“I’m not arguing with you that Schmidt deserves to die. I’m merely suggesting that, given your present circumstances, it might be a nice idea for you to stay somewhere safe, just for a little while. We can help you learn to use your abilities, we can teach you about others like us, show you what it’s like to be special when you’re not alone, not being punished for it.”

“I already know how to use my abilities.”

Charles shakes his head. “You know part of it, a damnably small part, I’m afraid. You can typically only use your powers when you’re upset, correct? When you have the situation, the anger or fear, pressing at you, forcing you to manifest.”

Erik nods uncertainly. “So?”

“So that’s not the only way, it’s far from the only way. Even I didn’t understand the full extent of my abilities before meeting Emma, and I discovered them before I could even talk, before what I was hearing made anything like sense to me. We can help you gain focus, an advantage I assure you’ll need when facing Schmidt.”

“When?”

“Oh, certainly. I’ll even help you find him, if you’d like. Once you’re ready.”

“Why? Why do any of this?”

Charles smiles, and not looking or caring to see if he’s invited, takes Erik’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Because I think we could achieve great things together, you and I. Might as well start out with a little well-earned revenge.”

\---

Charles doesn’t send him back to his room, so Erik spends the night sleeping peacefully at Charles’ side, his dreams free from nightmares for the first time since the camps.

When he wakes up, Charles is gone, but when Erik touches the now cold pillow beside him, there’s an immediate echo of Charles, and he can almost hear Charles telling him good-morning, assuring Erik they’ll see each other soon.

Restless, but still, stubbornly, not frightened, Erik gets out of bed and wanders the room, poking around in drawers until he can find something clean of Charles’ to wear that’ll actually fit. He keeps his own trousers, donning a new pull-over and grimacing at how tight it is before resolving not to care, and exiting room, set to find Charles.

He finds Raven, instead, lurking in the hallway as if she was waiting for him.

She probably was.

“Hello,” he greets her, interested to learn that it’s still easy enough for him to be suspicious of _her_ , regardless of Charles’ other mental meddling.

She grins, cat-like, and Erik feels distinctly as though he’s the proverbial canary between her teeth.

“Just here to give my obligatory little-sister speech,” she says lightly, still smiling.

Erik raises an eyebrow.

“Charles is not someone to fuck around with, you understand? Not just because I’m the only real family he has and I’d kill anyone who hurt him, either. Because he’s more powerful than anyone he’s ever met, probably more powerful than anyone out there, and he doesn’t always know or care to control himself. He’s dangerous to everyone who meets him, but it’s nothing compared to how dangerous it is to be loved by him, alright. I’m not saying it’s not worth it, but if you don’t think you can handle it - handle him - then it’s better for everyone if you get out now.”

Erik stares at her, not even knowing what to respond to first.

“We’re not - I don’t - and anyway, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.” Or at least that’s what he’s given to understand.

But Raven shakes her head, little more than a bored flick of her hair. “You can leave anytime you want. Charles isn’t compelling you to stay, or even to _want_ to. He’s just overriding your _very reasonable_ fear of him, because if there’s one virtue Charles truly lacks, besides humility, anyway, it’s patience.”

Erik shakes his his, uncomprehendingly, and says, “Why are you telling me this? Your loyalty is to Charles, not to me.”

Raven shrugs, looking almost uncomfortable now. It seems a little late in the conversation to bother, but Erik is still somewhat relieved that he’s no longer the only one finding this conversation unpleasant.

“He likes you,” Raven admits eventually, and very grudgingly. “A lot. I haven’t. I’ve never seen him react this way to someone before. Everyone new fascinates Charles for a second, maybe two, but he never bothers with more than that, just that brief flirtation, enough for him to reach in a little and see the best bits of a new mind. But with you - it’s clearly more than that, and that’s dangerous, for both of you. He’d be. He’d be very upset with himself if he broke you.”

“Broke me?” Erik parrots, his fists clenching, teeth set on edge. “I’ve been through every manner of hell you can imagine, little girl. I think it’ll take a little more than the likes of Charles to break me.”

She just stares at him, sad and full of something close to pity, and Erik has to turn away, and walk as fast as he can, until he’s far enough away from her that he’s reasonably sure he’s not going to turn back around and snap her neck.

\---

Erik’s only fractionally more calm by the time he locates Charles, standing in the middle of an industrial-style kitchen, all stainless steel and olive green appliances. Erik feels the metal singing out to him, and he indulges himself a little, raising his fingers upward and watching as the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling rattle and shake at his command.

When he looks down again, feeling considerably better, Charles is grinning at him.

“You’re fantastic,” Charles tells him, oozing sincerity, and Erik shakes his head, hiding a foolishly pleased, proud smile.

It’s been a very long time since he’s received praise from someone who wasn’t holding a poker to his eye or a gun to his mother’s head.

He wanders closer, trying to look casual as he sidles into Charles’ personal space, giving up the act entirely, however, when Charles chuckles and loops a quietly proprietary arm around Erik’s waist.

Once Charles is touching him again, Erik feels a rush of serenity and contentment wash over him, loosening the tension coiled in his shoulders, quieting the clatter of panic-anger-fear in his head. He allows himself to lean into it for a minute, two, and then carefully withdraws, noting Charles slightly disappointed acceptance of this given in the form of a short nod.

Free to move around the kitchen once more, Erik gravitates to the refrigerator, and can’t help gawking openly at the contents, shelves brimming with fresh fruit and vegetables, cheeses and meats.

“We haven’t got much that’s kosher, I’m afraid, but that will be rectified by the end of the day, I promise,” Charles says, sneaking up behind him to place a solicitous hand briefly against the small of Erik’s back.

“I don’t keep kosher,” Erik says abruptly, jerking away from Charles.

Charles looks at him curiously. “You always have,” he points out, reminding Erik with an eyebrow raise that if anyone would know, it’s him.

“Not anymore,” Erik says, shaking his head with finality.

Charles looks at him searchingly, and Erik gives him a little nod, an invitation Charles probably doesn’t think he needs, and then they’re sharing consciousness again. Charles is inside of him, shuffling through his memories like a stack of cards, eventually satisfied with the mix of resignation, pain, and finally the kernel of something like hope that Erik’s surprised to admit has been growing inside him since he met Charles, the desire within that hope to make a fresh start. To leave behind what the soldiers and doctors tried to take from him, but to do so by his own choosing, and no one else’s.

“Alright, my friend,” Charles agrees with one more touch, this time to Erik’s wrist, a brief squeeze, and then they are interrupted by the noisy arrival of two other boys, perhaps slightly older than Charles, closer to Erik’s 17.

Charles greets them heartily with hellos and light hugs that are little more than slaps on the back, and then he returns to Erik’s side, waving between them and Erik.

“Alex, Armando, this is Erik. He’s going to be staying with us for the time being.” Erik catalogs the casual way Charles says this, the open-ended promise in the words, and wonders if maybe Raven was right. Maybe he really could leave whenever he wanted.

He’s disturbed by how little the thought appeals.

But then, maybe that’s Charles’ influence.

“Pleasure,” he says for lack of anything better to, and receives two firm handshakes and tentative smiles.

“Nice to meet you, Erik,” says Armando, while Alex crosses his arms and nods a little reluctantly.

“And Sean - he’s never far behind, with you two, where is he?”

Alex and Armando share wolfish grins and answer in unison, “Sleeping.”

It makes Charles laugh and Erik’s skin itch, and he edges closer to Charles despite himself.

Alex catches the movement and snaps an accusatory glance at Charles, but Armando simply puts his arm around Alex’s shoulders and mutters, “Take it easy on the guy, babe,” and Alex’s expression softens immediately.

“So what can you do, Erik?” Alex asks, his question offered like an olive branch.

Erik looks at Charles, who nods, and then reaches out, drawing the knife on the counter up into the air, cutting through it viciously for a minute and then letting the knife drop harmlessly into his hand.

Alex and Armando clap, and it doesn’t even seem mocking, not really, just strangely, honestly impressed.

“What can you do?” he asks them, emboldened.

Armando laughs and jostles Alex. “He can shoot energy out of his body, but he’s afraid to use it. Mostly he just cheats at boxing.”

“Hey,” Alex protests, shoving back. “I help _you_ cheat at boxing, thank you very much.”

Erik raises his eyebrows, and Charles explains. “It’s another thing we do. Armando has quite a swell ability. One of my favorites, actually,”

“Careful, Xavier,” Alex warns playfully.

Acknowledging this threat with an amused quirk of his lips, Charles continues, “He’s adaptable, you see. It’s a brilliant mutation, and such a pure, straightforward representation of evolution, don’t think? Marvelous. Not great for the bedroom, unfortunately, but it certainly has its other uses. High among them, he can take a beating impressive enough to draw huge crowds of well-paying customers, and then pick himself up at the end and feel completely fine in a matter of minutes. And Alex is a nice counterpoint for him. They fight every couple months, sometimes with me or Emma there to alter Alex’s appearance for the crowd, make them think Armando is fighting someone else. He doesn’t always lose, of course, there’s no fun in that, but either way, neither of them gets hurt, and we make lots of lovely money. Everybody wins, as they say.”

“Except the people you trick into paying to watch a fake fight.”

Charles smiles, unconcerned. “Everybody who matters, is that better?”

Erik thinks about it, longer than the question probably warrants, and eventually settles on, “Yes. I suppose it is.”

\---

After breakfast, Charles’s face suddenly goes slack, his eyes distant. Erik is just about to start shaking him, shouting out in alarm, when Charles snaps out of it, smiling at him reassuringly.

“It’s alright, Erik. I’m here.”

Erik feels far more relieved by this than he thinks he should, but he can’t help nodding gratefully and reaching out to brush Charles’ bangs off his forehead.

Charles’ smile turns softer, dangerously intimate, and Erik doesn’t know if he wants to pull away or lean in, but before he can do either, Charles shakes himself, putting half a foot of space between them, and saying, “Time to get on with the day, I’m afraid. That was Emma, just then, and she’d like to see you up in her office at your soonest convenience, Erik.”

Not sure he likes the sound of that, Erik asks, “Where will you be?”

Charles grimaces a little, brushing it away with a falsely cheerful smile and says, “I have to work. Busy day, lots of appointments.”

Nodding awkwardly, Erik gets up from the table and follows after Charles. Armando and Alex wave to them, and Erik waves back, annoyed with how pleased their answering smiles make him.

He and Charles walk together until Emma’s office, and then Charles sucks in a determined breath, nods bracingly at Erik, and turns to go.

He’s halfway down the hall when Erik calls back after Charles, “See you when you get back.”

Charles stumbles, tripping over his feet but catching himself at the last minute, a wild, reckless grin on his face when he turns to meet Erik’s eyes.

“Until then, Erik,” he whispers, and disappears down the hall.

\---

“So, Erik,” Emma says, smiling at him speculatively from behind her desk. “What do you think of our home? Interested in staying for awhile?”

“You can read my mind,” Erik points out. “Don’t you know already?”

“I could find out easily enough, but despite what our first meeting might have indicated, I do try to respect the boundaries of my pupils, mental or otherwise. Charles has never really been interested in that, but I can’t really blame him.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s who he is,” she answers simply. “To a telepath, reading minds is as natural as breathing. For one as strong as Charles, it’s as necessary as well. He really can’t help himself, not most of the time, and the rest of the time, I see little reason why he should have to. Inside these walls, in our home, we can live as we are, be what we are. Whatever precautions we have to take outside, whatever personal boundaries we must respect within each other, these limitations are pragmatic necessities, nothing more.”

“You have an interesting sales pitch, I’ll grant you that,” Erik remarks sardonically, liking her despite himself.

“You’ve heard worse, if I’m not mistaken,” she says, but kindly, and devoid of pity, which is enough to stop Erik from launching himself over the desk at her.

“Whatever I decide, it won’t change what I have to do. Charles says staying here will help me train, improve my abilities, strengthen them. If it’ll help me kill Schmidt when I find him, then perhaps it’s worth the loss of time. But I won’t be held prisoner, not again. _Never_ again.”

Emma nods, full of understanding, and Erik feels dangerously inclined to trust her.

“Are you doing something to me - like Charles is?”

She laughs. “Oh, poor Charles. So impetuous, so little restraint.” She shakes her head. “No, Erik. I’m not doing anything to you. You can’t hurt me, and I can read you well enough to know you don’t want to. There’s nothing more I need from you, so there’s no point in using my abilities to convince you of anything. Charles’ trouble is that he isn’t used to wanting things, especially not things he can’t have. You’re a challenge to him, but he’s never been one to play by the rules. Except his own, of course.”

“I don’t believe he wants to harm me. Even if he wasn’t... doing whatever he’s doing. I don’t think I could actually be afraid of him.”

She smiles. “That’s sweet, sugar, it really is. But don’t be fooled by that sweet mouth and refined accent, okay? He’s more dangerous than you can imagine.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that today.”

“Raven’s a good girl, and she loves Charles, knows him. Not many other people can say the same.”

“Not even you?”

“I’m one of the few others, but only because I cheat as much as Charles does, at least when it comes to him.”

\---

Erik waits for Charles in his room, Emma’s warning still echoing in his head.

He doesn’t believe it, _can’t_ believe it, but doesn’t think that’s entirely Charles’ doing, either. Erik learned long ago to trust his instincts, learned when to let emotion take over and when to shut it down, to feel nothing. And he’s learned to read people, not quite as well as Charles, perhaps, but well enough to trust those who don’t immediately set off his instincts for fight or flight.

Even knowing the calm he feels around Charles is artificial, Erik can’t muster so much as a meager dose of fear. Whatever Charles can do, however dangerous he may he, a part of Erik deeper than even Charles can touch believes that Charles wants only what’s best for him, or at the very least what’s best for both of them together. Not to mention that it’s only been a day, and already he can’t imagine going back to life without Charles, the first and only person who has yet to make Erik feel anything other than alone.

He’s still mulling these things over, the coin from Schmidt curving lazily around his fingers, when Charles finally returns.

He’s flushed and giggly, stumbling over to the bed and laughing when he falls into in, landing half in Erik’s lap.

Feeling oddly distressed by Charles’ obvious lack of control, instead of using it as an opportunity to try and get away, Erik manhandles Charles efficiently, sitting him up and smoothing the fabric of his shirt. This has far from the intended effect, however, and just makes Charles burst into another round of hysterics, pressing his laughing face against Erik’s neck, making him shiver, although not altogether unpleasantly.

Charles takes a long, appreciative sniff of Erik, his hands winding themselves into Erik’s hair, his shirt, and then Charles is inside him again, inhaling Erik’s thoughts as thoroughly as his scent, and Erik feels drunk, weightless, and it’s heaven, god, it’s the best thing he’s ever--

“Damn,” Charles curses, yanking himself away from Erik and mentally sending a cold jolt of distance between them.

Erik looks at him curiously, his heart hammering, jeans uncomfortably tight.

“I’m sorry, Erik, I’m always a bit... open, after working all day. And to come to my bed and find you already here waiting for me, your mind so full of thoughts about _me_ , I couldn’t - I _should_ have stopped myself but you smelled so good, Erik, and I knew you’d taste even better.”

“Taste?”

Charles smiles sheepishly. “Thoughts have a flavor, Erik, like most things, if you pay close enough attention. Yours is very appealing, especially to me.”

“Why especially to you?” Erik asks, ignoring the part of himself that thinks he should be more worried about the bit where Charles apparently _eats thoughts_ , rather than merely inquiring about why his are especially delicious.

Helpless again, it would seem, Charles leans back in against Erik, taking another long, shuddering breath, his nose pressed into Erik’s collarbone.

“Because you’re mine.”

\---

In the morning, Erik wakes up long before Charles, and he watches the other boy sleep, feeling absurdly protective, as if the helpless way Charles is splayed out on his stomach could ever be anything but an illusion.

He’s still watching when Charles wakes up, eyes fluttering open lazily as he mutters and groans, pushing himself up by his elbows, rubbing distractedly at his hair.

Erik clears his throat, and is startled when the sound makes Charles _jump_ , his eyes snapping to look at Erik, a stunned expression on his face.

“You’re still here,” he breathes, drinking Erik in wonderingly.

“Of course I’m still here,” Erik replies gruffly, uncomfortable. Why wouldn’t he be?

Charles scrambles up onto his knees, swaying closer and then away from Erik, almost like a cobra about to strike. A very tired, mussed, confused cobra, that is.

“But I didn’t - I stopped. After what I did yesterday I couldn’t - it was hardly fair to stop you from being afraid of me when I couldn’t even control myself around you after a simple day at the office. You’re proving far too much for me to resist, Erik, and I can’t, clearly can’t, be trusted around you.”

“I don’t want you to,” Erik blurts, relishing the disagreement he knows comes only from himself.

“What?”

“Control yourself, that is. You shouldn’t have to.”

Charles stares at him, digging into Erik’s mind at the same time as his gaze seems to pierce Erik’s heart, and when he finds nothing but truth in Erik’s words, in his mind, Charles throws his arms around Erik’s neck, hugging him close.

“Thank you, Erik,” he says like a prayer, kissing the bare skin of Erik’s shoulder and then letting go.

Erik smiles at him, and says, “You’re welcome, Charles.”

\---

After that, Charles is in his head all the time, not suggesting anything, rarely even speaking to him that way, but just there, thinking what Erik thinks, feeling what Erik feels.

It helps with his training, the soothing presence of Charles’ mind against his serving to narrow his focus, calming the torrent of doubts and fears typically associated with the use of his abilities, helping him to think of the metal as an extension of himself, as Charles thinks of the minds he reads, as Charles thinks of Erik.

Having Charles around in his head is good for other things, as well. He gets friendly with the other members of Emma’s little home for wayward mutants, drifting naturally towards the ones Charles is confident he’ll get on with, taking subtle cues and suggestions from Charles about what to say to them, how to act.

He memorizes the city even though they rarely actually go out into it, and he learns the rules of Emma’s organization in the space of a few days instead of the weeks it would have likely taken him on his own. He starts thinking in English as well as speaking it, no longer having to translate his thoughts from a mix of German and Polish into easily accessible American slang. He avoids picking up the majority of Charles’ Britishisms, but does find himself referring to elevators as lifts and craving tea more than previously.

When he’s not training alone in a padded room that he can fling as much metal around in as he likes, Erik spends all of his time by Charles’ side, traveling with him wherever he goes, watching over him when he’s with clients, invisible to all except those Charles wishes for him not to be.

\---

At night, when Charles’ work and Erik’s training is done, they typically retire to Charles’ room to play chess.

Charles has been teaching Erik how, passing the rudimentary aspects of the game onto Erik mentally, along with various suggested strategies and advanced techniques.

“You’re helping me beat you,” Erik points on, the first night he comes close, in large part due to Charles’ instructions, whispered at the back of his mind.

Charles smiles, almost shyly, looking away from the board. “You’re doing that on your own, actually. I can feel it when your mind presses back at mine, when you’re actively searching for something in _me_ instead of the other way around.”

Intrigued, Erik leans towards Charles a bit, still sitting across from him on the other side of the board. _Tell me about the first time you realized there might be others like you_ he thinks at Charles, as assertively as he can, but it has no effect.

He frowns at Charles and Charles laughs. “It doesn’t work quite like that, I’m afraid. As with the earlier manifestations of your ability, I believe, for our connection to go both ways, you have to really _want_ the information, to be searching for it on a more intrinsic level. Besides, if you want to know anything about me, you can just ask.”

Charles has never lied to him, at least not without telling him so first or admitting to it later, and even without the help of his compulsion, Erik trusts Charles implicitly. So he asks, and follows Charles when he gets up from the table to go lie on the bed, waiting for his answer.

“It was Raven. I was 12, and one night she turned up in my kitchen, pretending to be my mother, offering to make me hot chocolate and tuck me in.” Charles snorts. “Which of course was something my mother would never do. After the birth, she spent a month recuperating in a spa while I was cared for by the first in a long line of nannies. I’m told I cried for a week straight once my mother returned and the first nanny was let go. So of course, even if I hadn’t been reading Raven’s mind, I would have known she wasn’t my mother. But what she _was_ , instead, turned out to be the most miraculous thing I’d ever seen. So beautiful and other, so perfectly unlike anyone else I’d ever met, her mind unlike any other I’d read. That’s when I got my first taste of it, that heady knowledge that I wasn’t the only one, that there were others as special as me, people to share my destiny.”

“What destiny is that?”

Charles smiles. “We’re the next link, Erik, the next stage in human evolution. We’re going to usher in a new era of human development. Someday, we won’t have to hide. Someday we’ll be worshipped, someday we’ll rule.”

Erik runs his thumb against the creases in Charles’ forehead, smoothing them and shaking his head. “That’s an awful lot for a 12-year-old to take on.”

Charles laughs. “I was hardly a normal 12-year-old.”

Erik sighs, remembering those last few months in Dusseldorf, a blur of grey and fear, and says, “Neither was I.”

Charles makes a quiet, soothing noise, and curls closer, whispering words of comfort, although Erik isn’t sure which one of them they’re intended for.

\---

He gets along well enough with everyone, something that would be shocking if it wasn’t largely down to Charles’ help, but the only mutant other than Charles that Erik actually _enjoys_ spending time with is Hank McCoy, who walks around barefoot, leaping about on walls and ceilings with as much ease as the rest of them walk on the ground. He likes Raven, too, possibly only because Charles does, although he thinks there could be more to it, between them, if only Raven would let there be. But she’s kept her distance so far, watching him and Charles with a face that’s envious and suspicious in turns.

In contrast, Hank is endlessly friendly and accommodating, all nervous energy and half-incoherent sentences which Charles mentally informs him are usually filled with brilliance, if he could only follow what Hank was saying well enough to grasp any of it.

But what he likes best about Hank is how much he reminds Erik of Charles, the same unexpected shyness manifesting at the oddest of times, the same casual genius infusing everything they say or do, mixed dangerously with the same arrogance, the same unwittingly charming obliviousness, even the same sharp sweetness in their faces, although Erik much prefers Charles’ eyes to Hank’s.

“You might only think those things because I want you to,” Charles points out playfully, one afternoon, but Erik only shakes his head.

“I think them because they’re true. The fact that you may also want me to doesn’t do anything to change that.”

\---

Erik is strangely unbothered by Charles’ work, and it’s not just because Charles probably wants it that way.

Indeed, after shadowing Charles the first few times, an invisible sentry at the corner of the room, he learns there really is nothing to be bothered by.

Charles doesn’t usually go out onto the street looking for perspective johns, Emma arranges most of his appointments for him, specializing in high-end clientele, wealthy businessmen and widows wearing twisted strands of peals and too many rings.

Charles does the chatting up himself, flirting and smiling, doling out quick, teasing touches, and then, before any of the real action starts, he slips out of their sight and conjures up an image of himself for them to touch, to use.

He usually comes to sit on the floor at Erik’s feet, his legs crossed, resting his chin in his hands, watching intently as a projected image of himself does all manner of things with the client, a glazed look in his eye that lets Erik know Charles is reading their minds as they fuck whatever vision of him they prefer.

The only part that does bother Erik is after, when Charles is drunk and stupid from the excess of thoughts, babbling about how he can taste the colour of words inside people’s heads, hands fumbling at Erik’s clothes, his mouth finding Erik’s neck, promising him over and over that nobody tastes as good as Erik, no one even comes close.

\---

He’s in the basement, planning a bank robbery with Raven, Alex, Armando, and Sean.

“Why isn’t Charles helping?” Erik asks during a squabble between Raven and Sean about who should distract the guard, thinking that Charles’ abilities could surely allow all of them to walk into the bank undetected and simply take whatever they’d like.

But everyone goes silent at the question, exchanging furtive looks.

“What?” he asks, speaking to everyone, but looking only at Raven.

She makes a face, and sighs. “We try not to expose Charles to that many vulnerable minds at once.”

More confused than ever, Erik asks, “What does that mean? Why not?”

Alex shrugs guiltily, tugging at his collar.

“Charles can get a bit... overstimulated, in large crowds. Especially large, captive audiences where everyone’s emotions are running high. It can get... messy.”

Erik thinks about what Charles told him, that first day. Thinks about the brittle, emotionless way he said, “I’ve even killed,” and sucks in a ragged breath.

“Is that why he almost always stays within the building?” They own the whole thing, six floors and a basement furnished for training and plotting capers on one end, and housing Hank’s lab on the other, but Erik has always just assumed that Charles stayed confined to the building because Erik was. At least until his training was complete, at any rate.

But everyone is nodding awkwardly, the mood finally settling somewhat when Armando says, “It’s for his own good, as well as everyone else’s. He doesn’t want to hurt people, we don’t want him getting hurt, or drawing attention. So we try to keep him from wanting to go out, and he tries to behave when he does.”

“You’re good for that,” Raven mutters, looking at Erik darkly.

He thinks about what Charles said to him last week after he’d gotten into another inexplicable spat with Raven.

Charles had tutted and said, “You have rather been monopolizing my time of late. I’ll spend the day with her tomorrow, that’ll sort it.”

It hadn’t. Raven still treats Erik more or less the same - amused and annoyed in turns - but it _had_ been the longest, loneliest of Erik’s days in recent memory. Everything before Charles seeming so distant, so insignificant, now.

“But I met Charles out on the street,” Erik points out, making Raven frown harder.

“Yeah, and you’re his favorite stray yet. Congratulations.” There’s something unmistakably bitter about her tone, and Erik finds himself reaching out to her automatically, placing his hand over hers and patting it awkwardly.

“You’ll always be his first, though. He’ll always love you, Raven. Hell, I’m fairly certain you’re the one who taught him how.”

Even blue, Raven can still blush, and for a second, she does, right before she clears her throat authoritatively and says, “Enough caring and sharing,” she flashes one quick, grudging smile at Erik. “Let’s get back to work.”

\---

Sometimes, instead of sleeping, Charles and Erik will lie awake on their sides, facing each other, foreheads pressed together, their hands clasped in the middle between them.

Erik will stare into Charles’ unblinking eyes, watching every twitch and quirk of his face as Charles dives greedily into Erik’s consciousness, when Charles’ presence goes from a low-level hum to the only thing he can hear, can feel. They can spend all night that way, as Charles feeds off of Erik’s thoughts and passes morsels of himself back to Erik along the way, an electrifying feedback loop that always leaves them both shaking, gasping in each others arms by morning.

It’s in those first early moments of the day that Erik likes Charles best, when he’s wide-eyed and spent, looking impossibly fragile, impossibly human, right before he leans over to kiss Erik, just once, on his forehead, and then jumps out of bed without a backwards glance, ready to start another day.

\---

Erik normally trains with Charles, his concentration always better when Charles is around, but when Charles is occupied, as he occasionally is with clients or other business Emma needs him to take care of, Erik will train with Alex and Armando instead, usually while Sean watches and laughs from the sidelines.

They tried using their powers against each other once, but Erik ended up knocked out from the pitch of Sean’s voice and Sean ended up with a knife in the knee, so that was basically the end of that.

Now Sean watches, and adds commentary, whilst Erik practices throwing every metal object he can get his metaphorical hands on at Armando, who covers himself in thick, armor like skin or turns paper thin, angling to avoid the weapons hurled at him with ease. Against Alex, Erik throws up thick walls of metal melted down from iron rods, deflecting the energy bursts Alex shoots at him, lightening quick.

He enjoys these times, even though he misses Charles when he has to train alone, even though he misses Charles whenever they’re apart.

\---

“Tell me about Schmidt.”

Erik looks at Charles curiously. He’s at his desk, feet propped on up on it, idly flipping through a paper by Albert Einstein, but Charles puts it down when he feels Erik watching him.

“You know everything about him already.’

Charles nods. “True, but everything you know and feel about him is buried, right now, and down deep. I can’t say that hasn’t been my intention, or at least that I’m not enjoying the relief from having your thoughts constantly tormented by him, but if you want to find him, I need to get a better lock on him than I can right now. If you talk about him, it’ll call up your memories more clearly, draw them back to the surface, as it were, and then I should be able to get a better read on him. If I understand him, learn to recognize his consciousness, I should be able to find him, wherever he is.”

Erik blinks. “No matter the distance?”

Charles smiles, almost managing to look modest as well as pleased. “I think so. I’ve been working on it, practising to extend my range. Now come come, it’s not going to be pleasant for either of us, but tell me whatever you can remember, and we’ll try to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

So Erik does, rambling for hours about the camps, about the day Schmidt took him from his mother, the day he made the gate move. He talks about watching her die, recounts in painful detail the smug, cruel smile on Schmidt’s face when he applauded Erik for his mindless display of his power after she died, shivers as he remembers the promise Schmidt made to him that day, the assurance that they would do great things together. And he tells Charles about the months that followed, the tests, the torture, the slow transformation he made from boy into weapon, man into machine.

Once he’s hoarse from speaking, withheld tears prickling at his eyes, Charles’ face is tear-lined and open, and he leans helplessly towards Erik, hugging him close, face burred in Erik’s hair.

“You knew already,” Erik says roughly, rubbing ineffectually at Charles’ back, trying to calm him.

Shaking his head, Charles pulls back, more tears in his eyes. “It’s different, hearing it. In your mind, I can _experience_ it, but it’s not the same. It’s... safe in a way living it could never be. And hearing it from your own lips hurts in a way it never could when I just take whatever I want from inside. Here it’s just you, just yours, and I can’t take that pain away from you.”

Absurdly, Erik smiles, running his hand up Charles’ arm and then neck to finally cup his jaw. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

\---

“There was this cop, Moira. She busted Charles back when we were still out on the streets on our own. Charles was still shy of 14, but he took a real shine to her, and her to him. All it took was a few minor alterations to her perception of him. A few changes to make him appear older, a few more to alter how she remembered their first meeting.”

“What happened to her?” Erik demands, trying to ignore the knot of jealousy forming in his throat.

Raven shrugs. “She went insane. That’s what happens, you know. With Charles’ playthings. The addiction goes both ways, Erik. Gets to be that Charles isn’t the only one who needs it. Gets to be that you’ll go crazy without him there, sticking his mind where it doesn’t belong, reordering your desires, sorting through your emotions, picking the ones he likes best. You get dependent on it, you need it, and if you lose it, you lose your mind.”

Erik withholds his reservations regarding any previous claims to sanity he could have made, and just asks, “Is that what happened to you?”

She blinks, flickers for a second, but holds her form and nods.

Erik’s hand is already in his pocket, and he draws Schmidt’s coin to the tips of his fingers thoughtfully.

“Do you regret it?”

She closes her eyes, head bowed, and then shakes her head.

“No. It’s Charles. I can’t regret anything about Charles.”

Erik gets up, taking his hand out of his pocket to pat her shoulder.

Before he turns to go, Erik says determinedly, “I don’t intend to either.”

\---

Back in their room, Charles is waiting for him, reading with a practiced nonchalance.

Shaking his head, Erik climbs onto the bed on his hands and knees, crawling obnoxiously over Charles to get to his side of the bed, tucked between Charles and the wall.

“You know, sometimes I think you send her after me with these little warnings and life lessons on purpose, Charles.”

Studiously not looking at Erik, Charles replies, “Maybe I do.”

Sighing, Erik takes the book out of Charles’ hands.

“I’ve _made_ my choice, my friend,” Erik reminds him firmly, forcing Charles to meet his eyes.

Charles laughs, broken and just shy of hysterical, and says, “That could just be what I want you to think.”

Shaking his head again, Erik leans over Charles, gazing at him steadily.

“I’m not afraid of you, Charles.”

Another laugh, worse sounding that the first.

“Yes, well, you should be.”

“It’s too late,” Erik responds with finality, and then encourages Charles’ fingers to find his temples, letting Charles slip inside him and see how little Erik minds, how _glad_ he is to know with the weight of their shared certainty - wavering though Charles’ may presently be - that Charles is the one thing in his life Erik never has to be afraid of.

Whatever else Charles wants, it’s never been to hurt Erik. The fact that Charles is the one who made him believe that in the first place doesn’t make it any less true.

\---

There are some mornings when Erik wakes up with Charles wrapped painfully tight around him, his hands splayed wide around Erik’s skull. Usually when this happens, however, he won’t even feel Charles particularly strongly in his mind, it’ll just be the same fuzzy, reassuring presence as always.

But then Charles’ eyes will snap open, and he’ll stare at Erik like he’s a mirage, like he can’t trust his eyes or even the feel of Erik underneath his fingers, and Erik will push their bodies even closer, opening his mind as wide as it can go, letting Charles flow into him, joining their minds together until it’s impossible to tell where Erik ends and Charles begins.

\---

Sometimes, instead of going with Charles on one of his jobs, Erik goes with Raven. He can’t stay inside the room with her the way he can with Charles, but he waits just outside the room, always sure to look as foreboding and murderous as possible when the johns pass him on their way inside.

One such time, after the client is gone and Raven is wrapped up in a robe and her blue skin, Erik can’t help but ask, “Why do you do it? What do you get out of this?” he knows why Charles does this to himself, but he can’t imagine why she’d want to.

She just looks at him, yellow-eyed, and says, “I get to feel normal.”

Erik furrows his brow. “That’s really so important to you?”

She smiles, sad and distant, and says, “It’s the only thing Charles can’t stop me from wanting, no matter how much we both wish he could.”

\---

Once, when - _because_ \- Erik isn’t there to protect him, Charles gets hurt.

Charles is up in one of the private rooms with a client, and Erik is in the basement, sparring with Armando, when he hears it.

A scream, ripped from deep inside Charles’ mind, so wretched that Erik is rocketed back into the camps, for a moment, remembering the way shame and pain can only sound when wound inextricably together.

He drops the knife he was holding suspended in the air, not even bothering to explain to Armando what’s happening before he _runs_ , fast as his feet can carry him, his powers shoving aside any metal objects that get in his way, using them again to rush the lift up, far faster than it’s supposed to go.

Racing down the hall, he bursts into the room, immediately taking in the sight of Charles, the _real_ Charles, curled naked in a ball on the floor, his hands covering his head, rocking back and forth.

There’s a man standing over him, his face twisted into a cruel parody of a smile, an absurd looking metal helmet covering most of his head.

It’s Schmidt.

Erik can’t breathe, for a minute, can’t move, not even with Charles writhing in agony on the floor, lost to a pain so strong it echos brutally within Erik’s own mind.

“Guten tag, Erik,” says Schmidt, still smiling. “How nice of you to send your pet telepath after me, it made it much easier for me to find you. Very considerate.”

Erik swallows, still frozen, save for his eyes, which continue to dart back and forth between Charles and Schmidt in a flurry of panic.

Schmidt chuckles, a sound so familiar and reviled that it knocks something loose inside Erik, and he lunges blindly, hurling a nearby brass vase at Schdmit and trying to grab hold of him, his hands closing around Schdmit’s neck for an entirely unsatisfying few seconds before he’s knocked free, choking on invisible hands now clenching around his own neck.

Schdmit makes a tsking sound, shaking his head in disappointment, as if they’re back in his laboratory and he’s about to punish Erik for his lack of control.

“I expected more from you by now, Erik. After all, you’ve been here training for months, now. You should be stronger. You would be, if your telepath was right about how to access your abilities. But we both know the truth, Erik. We both know that only in anger, in agony, can you truly be what you are. It’s all that’s left, after all.”

For a second, he believes, as he’s always believed, but then Erik looks back down at Charles, who is staring up at him unseeingly, now, his face frozen in pain, and Erik shakes his head, hard enough to release whatever hold Schdmit had on him, whatever his own abilities may be.

Schdmit waits, watching him speculatively, just a fraction of a second too long, and Erik strikes again, this time coiling a length of wire he keeps with him in his shirt pocket, reaching out with it lightening quick to grab the helmet from Schdmit’s head.

In an instant, Charles is up and on his feet, his face still slack with echos of the torture Schdmit somehow managed to force onto him, his voice cold, entirely unlike himself when Charles says, “I’ve got him, Erik. Do what you have to do.”

For an absurd moment, Erik has no idea what he means, can’t think of anything beyond the overpowering need to check on Charles, to see with his own eyes and hands that Charles is really alright. But the determined clench of Charles’ jaw and the strain in his eyes stops Erik, snaps him back into focus, and unthinking, he draws the coin Schdmit once gave him out from his trouser pocket, letting it hover in the air between them as Schdmit stares back at him, immobile, save for his frantically blinking eyes, the fear so strong and real it almost makes Erik want to weep from the pleasure of finally witnessing it. Causing it.

He thinks about drawing it out, counting to three and slowly, slowly driving the coin into Schdmit’s skull, but then Erik thinks again of Charles, who is using every fibre of his concentration to hold Schdmit in place, sweating from the effort, and Erik knows he must finish Schmidt quickly, and cleanly.

Instead of using the coin, then, he winds the wire still suspended behind Schmidt around his neck, slicing his head off in a smooth movement, and then turning away, not caring to watch Schmidt fall, all his attention on Charles, collapsed on the floor.

Leaving Schdmit’s headless corpse where it is, Erik kneels down and tenderly picks Charles up, hug his unconscious body close, and carries him out of the room without a backwards glance.

\---

Charles sleeps for three days.

It can’t really be true, but they feel like the longest days of Erik’s life.

When he finally does wake up, Charles blinks at Erik for a very long time, as if surprised to still find Erik there, waiting anxiously at his side.

“You did it, my friend,” Charles congratulates him weakly, a strangely sad smile on his face.

But Erik shakes his head firmly, leaning down to kiss Charles’ forehead.

“No, Charles. We did it.” They’re such a small, insignificant pair of words, but Erik adds them anyway, pouring as much sincerity as he can into each syllable, “Thank you.”

Charles smiles, sadder still, and says, “Anything for you, Erik.”

\---

Charles remains bed-ridden for several more days after waking up, and in that time, Erik never leaves his side.

Charles keeps giving him these _looks_ , however, distant and sad, and every time Erik gets up to walk around or fetch himself a new glass of water from the table at the other end of the room, Charles tenses, sucking in a nervous breath, his hands clenching around his blankets.

It takes Erik an embarrassingly long time to realize why, and even then, it’s mostly down to Raven.

She’s visiting again, as she does most mornings, curled up at Charles’ side, telling him stories about all the ridiculous things the others have been getting up to in his absence, carefully avoiding any topics that might upset him, or trying to, at least.

Charles is fine, entertained and happy in the presence of his sister, and his mind is calm enough, that is, until Erik tries to slip briefly out of the room to relieve himself, only to buckle under a spike of panic that Charles surges involuntarily his way the instant his hand touches the doorknob.

“Jesus, Charles, let the man take a piss. I promise he’ll come right back.”

Charles says nothing in response to this, and when Erik turns back around to look at him, he’s gulping for air, eyes wide with lingering fear.

Rushing to his side, Erik kneels at the edge of the bed, grabbing hold of both of Charles’ hands, drawing them together and bringing them to his mouth to kiss.

“I’m right here, Charles, not going anywhere.” Releasing his hands, Erik taps his own temple, smiling reassuringly. “And even when I’m not in the room, you’re always welcome up here, alright? Come on, Charles, we’ve been over this.”

Swallowing repeatedly, Charles shakes his head. “That was before, when I - and then you - Schdmit is _dead_ , Erik, what more do I have to offer you--”

Cutting Charles off by placing a hand over his mouth, Erik glares down at him, expression stormy with disapproval. “You’ve always had more to offer me than revenge, Charles. Always. Don’t lose faith in yourself now, not just when I’m finally starting to have faith in myself.”

Before Charles can respond, Raven makes a gagging noise and extracts herself from the bed, giving Erik what he takes to be a supportive thump on the back as she goes, shutting the door loudly behind her.

Wincing, Charles tries to wiggle backwards in the bed, putting some distance between himself and Erik, but Erik doesn’t allow it. He holds Charles down instead, climbing up onto the bed to lie down beside him, a leg thrown possessively over Charles.

“You told me once that I’m yours, Charles, but I don’t think you’ve ever quite understood that things like that have to go both ways. You can’t own people the way you can other other things, not unless they want you to. Not unless you allow yourself to be owned right back.”

Charles releases a sigh, expelling the last of his sadness and doubt, and then he smiles at Erik, bright and true.

“I’ve always been yours, Erik, always. I just didn’t presume to hope that you might actually want me to be, not after I’d helped you take care of Schmidt, anyway.”

Erik shakes his head, smiling too, “Then you’re a fool, but you are my fool, just the same.”

Charles laughs, a happier sound than Erik can ever remember hearing, and Erik rests his head against Charles’ steadily beating heart.

“Mine.”

\---

After his recovery, Charles takes Erik out to Battery Park to look at the Statue of Liberty.

“It’s very nice, Charles,” Erik says sardonically, mockingly adopting an awed expression. “Truly a shining light for all those lost and helpless in this world.”

Charles rolls his eyes, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the harsh November wind.

“Move it,” he snaps, and Erik knows Charles’ temper has more to do with the cold than Erik’s lack of suitable reverence for this symbol of justice and liberty, so he moves closer, throwing an arm around Charles’ shoulders.

“You should have let me distract the street vendor we passed on our way here, Charles. If you had, you’d have a lovely warm coffee and a cup of roasted chestnuts right now,” Erik points out, but keeps Charles close, rubbing absently as his side, trying to get the blood flowing.

Charles leans into it for another minute, but then straightens his shoulders, pulling away and pointing out across the water at the statue.

“Move it,” he repeats.

Erik laughs. “You’re not serious.”

“Completely.”

Erik shakes his head. “I can’t, Charles, it’s too big, too far away. I can barely feel the metal from all the way over here.”

Charles shrugs, unmoved by these objections. “You can. You just have to believe in yourself, to trust your power. If you do that, it won’t fail you.”

Muttering mutinously, Erik nonetheless turns towards the statue, hands outstretched, face contorted as he tries as hard as he can to make a connection, to communicate with the copper in the statue, to draw it to his command. Gasping, he gives up after a few seconds, red-faced.

He expects to get an amused smile for his efforts, or at least for how ridiculous he must look, but Charles just purses his lips, looking disappointed. Erik hates to see that look on Charles’ face, and he turns back to the statue, redoubling his efforts, trying to marshal the same calm Charles usually brings to him on his own.

It’s no good, and he’s about to give up again when he feels Charles’ mind pressing persistently at his, not changing his mood, not even whispering instructions, just repeating, simple and clear, _I believe in you, Erik, you can do this, please try,_ and suddenly it’s easy, it’s nothing, and the arm holding the torch is twisting towards them, and then the entire statue is, the sound of it loud enough to carry all the way across the water to reach them.

Charles laughs, throwing his hands around Erik’s neck and pressing a quick kiss to his right temple, shouting, “Well done, Erik, well done,” over and over until they start drawing looks, murmurs of shock at the change in the statue following quickly.

“Charles,” he mutters, feeling a bit panicked, and Charles returns to himself, sobering somewhat, and says, “Right, right,” immediately wiping the memories of everyone around them, holding them all in place for a minute as Erik strains to move the statue back to its original angle, doubling over from the effort once he’s through.

Charles is winded too, exhausted from keeping so many minds in place, and they stagger back home with their arms around each other’s shoulders, walking in step and holding each other up the whole way.

\---

After he’s been living with Charles for six months, Emma knocks on their door, requesting another private meeting with Erik.

He’s apprehensive, not because of the meeting, but because it means a longer time away from Charles than he’s grown comfortable with, but before Erik leaves with her Charles gives his hand a squeeze and telepathically promises to be with him the whole time, and Erik finds these reassurances make it easy enough to go with her without protest.

Once they’re in her office, however, she turns from her human form into her diamond one, something Erik is normally very impressed by. Only this time, the instant she changes he feels Charles separated from him in a way he hasn’t been since they arrived, frozen in the shocking isolation of suddenly having no one else sharing his consciousness.

“What did you do?” Erik demands, already up from his chair, angrier than he’s been in months.

She smirks at him, just for a second, but then her expression hardens into something far less amused and far more disturbing, shaking her head.

“In here, if I want, no one can hear me, or anyone else I’m with. No telepath can get through.” She waves at the mirrored glass the surrounds them. “Not even Charles.”

“Why?” Erik chokes out, feeling adrift, drowning in a sea of chaotic thoughts he no longer has Charles to help order and control.

She cocks her head at him, watching him curiously. “Can’t you feel why?”

Shuddering, Erik sinks back into his seat, hands clenched in fists on the top of her desk.

“Please stop,” he begs, and the expression on her face grows curiouser still.

“You want him back in your head? Even after he lied to you about the effects?”

Erik shakes his head violently, his hands straining to grab at his hair, to pull at the top of his scalp until he his head opens up and lets Charles’ thoughts flood back inside.

“He didn’t lie.”

Emma laughs, a short, ugly sound. “Oh sugar, you’ve got it bad and you don’t even know it. Of course he did! Now, I love Charles as much as any of my children, but I already told you he doesn’t play anything like fair. He might have stopped making you afraid, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped controlling you, and especially what you think of him.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” Erik grinds out through clenched teeth, shoulders hunched and eyes closed against the screams of pain and anger rioting in his head, kept down, kept away from him, for all these months.

“Have it your way,” Frost says with a flick of her hand, turning back from diamond to her human form, and then instead of the screams of his dying mother and the cruel low chuckle of Schmidt, no less haunting since his death, all Erik can hear is Charles babbling in a seamless, soothing rush, his thoughts flowing over Erik’s like a cleansing rain.

It takes a minute before Erik can get up, but as soon as he can, he staggers out of the room, blind to everything except the sound of Charles’ voice in his mind, guiding Erik back to him.

\---

He makes it as far as their bedroom doorway before his knees give out, but luckily Charles is already standing there waiting for him, ready to catch Erik when he falls.

Charles drags Erik to the bed, pushing with his hands and with his abilities, maneuvering Erik until he’s lying on his back, and then lying down beside him, Charles’ head resting over Erik’s heart.

“I’m sorry, Erik,” he says, so low and remorseful that Erik makes the supreme effort to move his hand, fumbling until his fingers find their way into Charles’ hair. He forms a fist around some of it, tugging sharply, making Charles look at him.

“I’m not.”

Charles’ face shatters, relief so strong it brings tears to his eyes, and Erik’s too, he realizes belatedly, feeling a long forgotten dampness on his cheeks.

Hiccuping, Charles tries to pull away, apologizing again, so Erik does the only thing he can think of - tugging Charles back down to him by his belt-buckle and winding his arm back around Charles’ slender shoulders, holding him in place.

“Don’t make me get a set of irons to keep you in line, Charles,” Erik reproaches him, causing Charles to huff a weak laugh into his chest.

“Kinky,” he applauds half-heartedly, when Erik finally releases him enough that Charles can raise his face again, meeting Erik’s eyes.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Charles asks, sounding younger than Erik has ever heard him, sounding _broken_ in a way Erik simply can’t abide.

Desperate, he pulls Charles closer, pressing their mouths violently together, a clash of teeth and lips that Charles resists for a moment before melting against Erik’s chest, his tongue lapping eagerly at Erik’s, his mind a distant hum of worshipful devotion.

Once he feels Charles go entirely slack and calm, Erik releases him, and says shortly, “That’s why.”

\---

The next morning, he leaves Charles sleeping in their bed, his hair tussled and cheeks creased from the pillows, eyes still red and puffy from crying.

He tries to creep silently down the hall, hoping to pop into the kitchen undetected, grab a little food and tea, and then return to Charles, but he barely gets halfway down the hall before Raven appears, making Erik jump with surprise, hand over his heart.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he accuses, smiling a little to soften his words.

“He’s still manipulating you,” she says bluntly, arms crossed.

“I know.” He’s not sure Charles knows how to do anything else.

She makes a frustrated sound and clarifies, “Erik, he’s _changing_ you.”

Erik shrugs; it’s hardly news to him.

“And I’m letting him.”

She stares at him, and even though they’re not technically related, it’s not the first time that Erik has suspected that telepathy runs in the family.

“And that’s it? That’s enough for you?”

Erik shrugs again. “The ends justify the means.”

Raven shakes her head. “I used to think that, too. I always thought that, about Charles. And lord knows his intentions are good, at least most of the time, but I was already half-crazy when I met Charles, I needed him, I still do. But here’s nothing _wrong_ with you, Erik! Nothing about you Charles should see the need to change.”

“This isn’t just about Charles, although I won’t deny he’s a strong draw.”

She shakes her head. “What else is there? What can Charles possibly offer you that makes it worth the sacrifice of your free will?”

Erik smiles, thinking of Charles still asleep on their bed, and answers simply,

“Peace.”


End file.
